


The Specialist

by WritingforTheAvengers



Category: John Wick inspired, The Punisher - Fandom, daredevil - Fandom, frank castle - Fandom
Genre: F/M, John Wick AU!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 05:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11983554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingforTheAvengers/pseuds/WritingforTheAvengers
Summary: "Shit..." you mumbled, but you couldn't decipher if it was because you had a just closed wound on your stomach or because your boyfriend was jogging up the staircase. When his head started to show up, you said. “Frank, honey… before you say anything at all—"





	The Specialist

After the payment, you waved the dinner service goodbye and made your way back to your room with great effort; it was actually nice seeing it all tidy again. Anyway, it was not your fault that someone had the terrible idea of trying to challenge you in your own house. You were admittedly a bit rusty; your days of taking any jobs were actually gone and now you had the reputation to take only the most profitable one, and that usually included taking out the seriously bad guys.

You had taken a shot, or a knife, really; a severe one to keep you out for a few weeks, but with enough rest and care, you'd be back in business feeling better than ever. The medical woman lovingly messed up your hair before leaving too and you were left alone with a chicken soup by your side. She had seen you in way worse condition than this so she was actually relieved that you were conscious this time. You weren't expecting any visitors, or at least, you didn't remember you had any; that until you heard the door being unlocked and a familiar voice asking if you were around.

"Shit..." you mumbled, but you couldn't decipher if it was because you had a just closed wound on your stomach or because your boyfriend was jogging up the staircase. When his head started to show up, you said. “Frank, honey… before you say anything at all—"

"(Y/N)? What the hell happened to you?" Frank rushed to your side. You were most certainly not in your best day. The doctor left you in your sportswear because they were not tight, and a blanket over you to keep you warm enough, but you still had bandages and patches on you. Not to mention you had a few strips of skin closures on your forehead, cheek and jaw.

"Did they come for you?" He asked, raising his voice each passing second. "(YN), I'm–" you tried to cut him off, but his questions went by so fast that you couldn't. With some effort, you took your hand to his mouth and finally shut him up.

"I am fine," you calmly assured him, "if anything, the idiots that came for me took the worst hit. They seriously need to know who I am and what people in the biz call me," you sighed and caressed his cheek. You hadn't seen Frank in a few days; he had even grown a stubble. "Anyway, dinner was as great as usual," you smiled.

"What? What dinner?"

"Oh—It's what we call the cleaning service," you said, laughing softly but wincing the very second after. You sighed heavily and closed your eyes. Frank placed his hand over your forehead and gently caressed it upwards.

“Do you have any painkillers I can bring you?” He asked, feeling hopeless at what little he could do for you. You shook your head.

“They already gave me something, I’m just letting them kick in; it might take a while,” you huffed, and looked at him lovingly, “that shit’s like horse tranquilizer,”

“I hate to see you like this,” Frank held your hand and kissed it repeatedly; worried was one way to put it, but it was not enough. Although this wasn’t because of him, he couldn’t help but worry and dread the fact that you could get hurt because of him.

With time, Frank Castle had made himself quite a few enemies, and very dangerous ones and even though he knew now you were more than capable to defend yourself from anything, it still frightened him the people that could get to you. The Cartel, the Irish, the Hell Dogs, and god knew what else.

“Who did this? And why are you doing this? Isn’t this my job?” His expression softened and he gently thumbed the back of your hand. “I’m the big, bad Punisher, not you,”

“Technically, _you_ are doing _my_ job, I’ve been doing this for a while and for longer than you have, y’know?” You admitted. “I am fit for the job; I’ve got no family and I’ve been on my own ever since I can remember so…” you shrugged. “You know, when I was little, we had these fights at the nuns’; the big kids picked up on us and took our food… guess who brought it back,” you said absent mindedly, that seemed like a very long time ago. “As for who did it, I couldn’t really grasp the accent, eastern European definitely, perhaps Russians? Or Polish… I don’t know, I’m not really sure, this city’s full of shit , but I sure as hell sent a fucking message,” you smiled proudly.

“What kind of message?”

“Do you know the legend of Baba Yaga?” Frank shook his head. “Well, it’s like the boogeyman—”

“You’re the boogeyman?”

“Not quite,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m what you call to get rid of Baba Yaga,” Frank’s eyes opened wide. “Yes, I am that good, so they won’t come back in a while, but if they do… God have mercy on those poor bastards’ souls…”

“But that just can’t be it,” Frank guessed, “I’m sure there must be something you’re not telling me,” he rose his eyebrows accusingly, he knew you too well and could see through your bullshit right away.

“Well, of course not,” you sighed and started your long story of how you became what you were and the hundred do’s and don’ts of your current job. Frank listened attentively, making only a few occasional questions here and there; it surprised him to think that you, a seemingly open book, had so many secrets inside. “So anyway, that’s what happened, are you mad at me Frank?”

“Why should I?” Frank furrowed his brow. “My babe’s a badass and I should be scared of getting on her nerves,” he chuckled, but immediately came back to his worried expression from before. “Are you sure you can handle this, (Y/N)?” Holding your hand gently, he looked straight at you. “I’m not doubting you, and telling by your story you actually can, but I can’t help but worrying…”

“It’s fine, and yes, I can handle it,” you assured him and before he could speak again, you cut him off, “you know I’m not gonna quit this because it’s the only way of living I know,” Frank sighed in defeat. “I can promise I will take care, though,”

“It’ll do for now,” he stood up from the bed and kissed the top of your head. “So…” Frank hesitated, looking at you all patched up, “can I bring’ya anything?”

“Just your hot body, because the doctor prescribed a ridiculously high dose of cuddles,” you patted the stop next to you and Frank shook his head in amusement, smiling widely at your dorkiness. You felt how the painkillers slowly started to kick in; your words were sloppy and your eyelids felt heavier than ever.

He laid with you, keeping his distance from your harmed self as you shared stories of how you two got your asses into big trouble and got out of it. That was not a romantic conversation, but you had never felt more connected to Frank. This was really taking your relationship to a whole new level, and who knew? You could might as well become a sort of Lady Punisher and be as bad ass as Mr. and Mrs. Smith without the trying to kill each other… right?


End file.
